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Charlie to the Rescue

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<h3>Chapter Twenty One.</h3> <h4>Tells of a Cruel Deed, and Shows How Mysteriously Hunky Ben Behaved.</h4> When Jake escaped from the ranch of Roaring Bull he tried the mettle of Captain Wilmot’s charger to the uttermost, for well he knew that the pursuit would be instant and vigorous; that his late comrade Charlie Brooke could guide the troops to the cavern in Traitor’s Trap, and that if his companions, who would doubtless ride straight back, were to escape, they must be warned in time. He also knew that the captain’s charger was a splendid one. In order to accomplish his purpose, therefore, he would ride it to death. The distance between the ranch and the outlaws’ cave was not so great but that any mustang in the plains could have traversed it in a day, but the cruel man had made up his mind that the captain’s charger should do it in a few hours. It is not so much distance as pace that kills. Had any consideration whatever been extended to the noble creature by the ignoble brute who rode it, the good horse would have galloped to the head of the Trap almost without turning a hair. At first he strode out over the rolling prairie with the untiring vigour of a well-made frame and a splendid constitution, leaping the little cracks and inequalities of the ground in the exuberance of his strength; though there was no need to bound, and coursing over the knolls as easily as he cantered down the hollows, while his flashing eye betokened at once a courageous and a gentle spirit. But when the lower slopes of the hills were reached, and steepish gradients were met with here and there, the horse began to put back first one ear and then the other, and sometimes both, as if in expectation of the familiar “well done,” or pat on the neck, or check of the rein with which the captain had been wont to sanction a slackening of the pace, but no such grace was allowed him. On the contrary, when the first symptom appeared of a desire to reduce speed Jake drove his cruel spurs into the charger’s glossy side. With a wild snort and bound the horse stretched out again and spurned the ground as if in indignant surprise. Then the breath began to labour slightly; the sweat to darken his rich brown coat, and the white foam to fleck his broad chest. Still Jake pressed him on with relentless fury. It could not be expected that a man who cared not for his fellows would have much consideration for his beast. Murder of a deeper dye than that of a horse was seething in the outlaw’s brain. This to him useless expedition, which had so nearly cost him his life, would be the last that Buck Tom should command. After blowing out his brains he would warn the others of the impending danger and lead them away to other and more favourable fields of enterprise. At this point the good horse stumbled and almost threw his rider, who, with horrible curses, plied the spurs and tugged at the bit until blood was mingled with the flying foam. Never, save once—when Captain Wilmot was caught alone in the plains by Cheyenne Indians and had to fly for his life—had the good charger been urged to anything like such an effort as he was now called on to make, and then there was no cruelty mingled with the urging. The very tone of his master’s voice, as he patted the neck and shook the rein and gently touched him with the spur, must have convinced the intelligent creature that it was a matter of life or death—that there was a stern need-be for such haste. Turning at last into the gorge of the Trap, the charger gasped and sobbed with distress as he faced the steep ascent and tried, with the unabated courage of a willing heart, to pull himself together while the unmerciful monster still drove in the spurs and galled his tender mouth. But the brave effort was unavailing. Stumbling over a root that crossed the path, the horse plunged forward, and fell with a crash, sending his rider over his head. Jake, alighting on his face and right shoulder, lay stunned for a few seconds. Then he jumped up, displaying torn garments and a face covered with blood. Running to the horse’s head he seized the rein and shook it savagely, kicking the animal’s face with his heavy boots in his anxiety to make it rise, but the poor charger was beyond his cruelty by that time, for its neck had been broken by the fall. Oh! it was one of those sights which are fitted to make even thoughtless men recognise the need of a Saviour for the human race, and to reject with something like scorn the doctrine—founded on wholly insufficient evidence—that there is no future of compensation for the lower animals! The outlaw did not waste time in vain regrets. Bestowing a meaningless curse on the dead charger, he turned and went up the narrow glen at a smart pace, but did not overstrain himself, for he knew well that none of the troop-horses could have kept up with him. He counted on having plenty of time to warn his comrades and get away without hurry. But he reckoned without his host—being quite ignorant of the powers of Black Polly, and but slightly acquainted with those of her master Hunky Ben. Indeed so agile were the movements of Polly, and so thoroughly was the scout acquainted with the by-paths and short cuts of that region, that he actually passed the fugitive and reached the head of Traitor’s Trap before him. This he managed by forsaking the roads, keeping a straighter line for the outlaws’ cave, and passing on foot over the shoulder of a hill where a horseman could not go. Thus he came down on the cavern, about half-an-hour before Jake’s arrival. Clambering to the crevice in the cliff against which the cave abutted, and sliding down into a hollow on its earthen roof, he cautiously removed a small stone from its position, and disclosed a hole through which he could both hear and see most of what took place inside. Lest any one should wonder at the facility with which the ground lent itself to this manoeuvre, we may as well explain that the bold scout possessed one of those far-reaching minds which are not satisfied without looking into everything,—seeing to the bottom of, and peering round to the rear of, all things, as far as possible. He always acted on the principle of making himself acquainted with every road and track and by-path, every stream, pond, river, and spring in the land. Hence he was well aware of this haunt of outlaws, and, happening to be near it one day when its owners were absent, he had turned aside to make the little arrangement of a peep-hole, in the belief that it might possibly turn out to be of advantage in course of time! The clump of shrubs and grass on the rugged bank, which formed the top of the cave, effectually concealed the natural hollow which he had deepened, and the overhanging mass of the rugged cliff protected it from rain and dew. What Hunky Ben saw on looking through his peep-hole filled him with surprise and pity, and compelled him to modify his plans. Almost below him on a brush couch, lay the tall form of Buck Tom, with the unmistakable hue of approaching death upon his countenance. Beside him, holding his head, kneeled the much-wasted figure of Leather—the reputed outlaw. Seated or standing around in solemn silence were six of the outlaws, most of whom bore tokens of the recent fight, in the form of bandage on head or limb. “I brought you to this, Leather; God forgive me,” said the dying man faintly. “No, you didn’t, Ralph,” replied the other, calling him by his old familiar name, “I brought myself to it. Don’t blame yourself, Ralph; you weren’t half so bad as me. You’d never have been here but for me. Come, Ralph, try to cheer up a bit; you’re not dying. It’s only faint you are, from loss of blood and the long gallop. When you’ve had a sleep and some food, you’ll feel stronger. We’ll fetch a doctor soon, an’ he’ll get hold o’ the bullet. Dear Ralph, don’t shake your head like that an’ look so solemn. Cheer up, old boy!” Leather spoke with a sort of desperate fervour, but Ralph could not cheer up. “No,” he said sadly, “there is no cheer for me. I’ve thrown my life away. There’s no hope—no mercy for me. I’ve been trying to recall the past, an’ what mother used to teach me, but it won’t come. There’s only one text in all the Bible that comes to me now. It’s this—‘Be sure your sin will find you out!’ That’s true, boys,” he said, turning a look on his comrades. “Whatever else may be false, that’s true, for I know it.” “That’s so, dear Ralph,” said Leather earnestly, “but it’s no less true that—” Just then a noise was heard in the outer passage; then hurrying footsteps. Instinctively every man drew his revolver and faced the door. Next moment Jake entered. “Here, one of you; a drink—I’m fit to—ha!” His eyes fell on the figure of Buck and he shrank back for a moment in silent surprise. “Yes, Jake,” said the dying man, with a glance of pity not unmingled with scorn, “it has come sooner than you or I expected, and it will save you some trouble—maybe some regret. I’ve seen through your little game, Jake, and am glad I’ve been spared the necessity of thwarting you.” He stopped owing to weakness, and Jake, recovering himself, hastily explained the reason of his sudden appearance. “Fetch me a rag an’ some water, boys,” he continued. “It looks worse than it is—only skin deep. And we’ve not a moment to lose. Those who have a mind may follow me. Them that wants to swing may stop.” “But how about Buck Tom?” asked one who was not quite so depraved as the others. “What’s the use o’ askin’?” said Jake. “It’s all up with him, don’t you see? Besides, he’s safe enough. They’d never have the heart to hang a dying man.” “An’ Leather!” cried another. “We mustn’t quit Leather. He’s game for many a fight yet. Come, Leather; we’ll help you along, for they’re sure to string you up on the nearest tree.” “Don’t trouble yourself about me,” said Leather, looking round, for he still kneeled beside his old friend, “I don’t intend to escape. Look to yourselves, boys, an’ leave us alone.” “Unless you’re all tired o’ life you’ll quit here an’ skip for the woods,” said Jake, as, turning round, he hurriedly left the place. The others did not hesitate, but followed him at once, leaving Buck Tom, and his friend to shift for themselves. During all this scene Hunky Ben had been intently gazing and listening—chiefly the latter. When the outlaws filed past him he found it extremely difficult to avoid putting a bullet into the Flint, but he restrained himself because of what yet remained to be done. As soon as the outlaws were well out of sight Ben arose and prepared for action. First of all he tightened his belt. Then he pulled the hood of his coat well over his head, so that it effectually concealed his face, and, still further to accomplish the end in view, he fastened the hood in front with a wooden pin. Proceeding to the stable he found, as he had hoped and expected, that the outlaws had left one or two horse-cloths behind in their flight. In one of these he enveloped his person in such a way as to render it unrecognisable. Then he walked straight into the cave, and, without a word of warning, threw his strong arms a round Shank Leather and lifted him off the ground. Of course Leather shouted and struggled at first, but as well might a kitten have struggled in the grip of a grizzly bear. In his worn condition he felt himself to be utterly powerless. Buck Tom made a feeble effort to rise and help him, but the mere effort caused him to fall back with a groan of helpless despair. Swiftly his captor bore Leather up the side of the hill till he got behind a clump of trees, into the heart of which he plunged, and then set his burden down on his feet. At the same time, throwing back his hood and flinging away the horse-cloth, he stood up and smiled. “Hunky Ben, or his ghost!” exclaimed Shank, forgetting his indignation in his amazement. “You’re right, young man, though you’ve only see’d me once that I know of. But most men that see me once are apt to remember me.” “Well, Hunky,” said Leather, while the indignation began to return, “you may think this very amusing, but it’s mean of a big strong man like you to take advantage of a fellow that’s as weak as a child from wounds an’ fever. Lend me one o’ your six-shooters, now, so as we may stand on somewhat more equal terms and—but a truce to boasting! I’m sure that you wouldn’t keep smiling at me like a Cheshire cat if there wasn’t something behind this.” “You’re right, Mr Leather,” said Ben, becoming at once grave and earnest. “There is somethin’ behind it—ay, an’ somethin’ before it too. So much, that I have barely time to tell ’ee. So, listen wi’ both ears. There’s a bunch o’ men an’ troops close to the Trap even now, on their way to visit your cave. If they find you—you know what that means?” “Death,” said Leather quietly. “Ay, death; though ye don’t desarve it,” said Ben. “But I do deserve it,” returned Shank in the same quiet voice. “Well, may-hap you do,” rejoined the scout coolly, “but not, so far as I know, in connection wi’ your present company. Now, there’s Buck Tom—” “Ay, what of him?” asked Shank, anxiously. “Well, in the nat’ral course o’ timings, death is comin’ to him too, an’ that’ll save him from bein’ strung up—for they’re apt to do that sort o’ thing hereaway in a loose free-an-easy style that’s awkward sometime. I was within an inch of it myself once, all through a mistake—I’ll tell ’ee about that when I’ve got more time, maybe. Well, now, I’m keen to save you an’ Buck Tom if I can, and what I want you to understand is, that if you expect me to help you at a time when you stand considerable in need o’ help, you’ll have to do what I tell ’ee.” “And what would you have me do?” asked Shank, with a troubled look. “Remain here till I come for ’ee, and when you meet me in company say nothin’ about havin’ met me before.” “Can I trust you, Hunky Ben?” said Shank, looking at him earnestly. “If you can’t trust me, what d’ye propose to do?” asked the scout with a grin. “You’re right, Ben. I must trust you, and, to say truth, from the little I know of you, I believe I’ve nothing to fear. But my anxiety is for Ralph—Buck Tom, I mean. You’re sure, I suppose, that Mr Brooke will do his best to shield him?” “Ay, sartin sure, an’, by the way, don’t mention your Christian name just now—whatever it is—nor for some time yet. Good-day, an’ keep quiet till I come. We’ve wasted overmuch time a’ready.” So saying, the scout left the coppice, and, flinging open his coat, re-entered the cave a very different-looking man from what he was when he left it. “Hunky Ben!” exclaimed Buck, who had recovered by that time. “I wish you had turned up half-an-hour since, boy. You might have saved my poor friend Leather from a monster who came here and carried him away bodily.” “Ay? That’s strange, now. Hows’ever, worse luck might have befel him, for the troops are at my heels, an’ ye know what would be in store for him if he was here.” “Yes, indeed, I know it, Ben, and what is in store for me too; but Death will have his laugh at them if they don’t look sharp.” “No, surely,” said the scout, in a tone of real commiseration, “you’re not so bad as that, are you?” “Truly am I,” answered Buck, with a pitiful look, “shot in the chest. But I saw you in the fight, Ben; did you guide them here?” “That’s what I did—at least I told ’em which way to go, an’ came on in advance to warn you in time, so’s you might escape. To tell you the plain truth, Ralph Ritson, I’ve bin told all about you by your old friend Mr Brooke, an’ about Leather too, who, you say, has bin carried off by a monster?” “Yes—at least by a monstrous big man.” “You’re quite sure o’ that?” “Quite sure.” “An’ You would know the monster if you saw him again?” “I think I would know his figure, but not his face, for I did not see it.” “Strange!” remarked the scout, with a simple look; “an’ you’re sartin sure you don’t know where Leather is now?” “Not got the most distant idea.” “That’s well now; stick to that an’ there’s no fear o’ Leather. As to yourself—they’ll never think o’ hangin’ you till ye can walk to the gallows—so cheer up, Buck Tom. It may be that ye desarve hangin’, for all I know; but not just at present. I’m a bit of a surgeon, too—bein’ a sort o’ Jack-of-all-trades, and know how to extract bullets. What between Mr Brooke an’ me an’ time, wonders may be worked, if you’re wise enough to keep a tight rein on your tongue.” While the scout was speaking, the tramp of cavalry was heard outside, and a few minutes later Captain Wilmot entered the cave, closely followed by Charlie Brooke. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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